


Sweet Fifteen

by cortchuzska



Series: The Last Lion [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:43:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortchuzska/pseuds/cortchuzska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When dreams come true: Jaime Lannister joins the Kingsguard</p>
<p>
  <em>And me, that boy I was . . . when did he die, I wonder? When I donned the white cloak? When I opened Aerys's throat? </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Fifteen

Fifteen years old. Sun in his hair, life before him, and the world at his feet.

He. Among of the best knights in the Seven Kingdoms, and the youngest ever to be raised to the Kingsguard: and that would won his father's approval. A father who, in his dry sober manners, always urged him to perform at his best.

First born and heir to the richest and most powerful Great House. A true lion, who gained a great honour to the Lannisters' name. A White Sword. His father would be proud of him.

Fifteen. As glorious as the sun itself.

Beautiful as his twin sister Cersei; the same wild green eyes, long golden hair. He'd wager that if he wore her gown, as he would sometimes when they were children, and exchanged dresses, it would be still difficult to tell them apart – if he used gloves, otherwise his sword-trained calloused hand would betray him. A hand worthy of the finest swordsman of the Seven Kingdoms.

All the man wanted to be like him; the women wanted him, but the only woman he had ever wanted was the most beautiful of them all, and she had always been his, and more than his: she was him. She was his twin sister Cersei.

He set aside the unwanted thought the White Swords were sworn to celibacy; he was not a man to over-think. It was not going to be a problem with Cersei; the plan of him becoming a member of the Kinsguard was theirs; and with her, Jaime would forget “mine” and always think “ours”.

She spilt the news with their father before he told him, spoiling his surprise, but even that was for the best. He was a tad softer with her – if such a word could be used referring to Lord Tywin – and would show her more openly his joy and pride. She would sneak into Jaime's bed tonight, and tell him everything their father said, doubling his happiness. From now on, no one would part them.

\--o--

He had set down a speech, but was too excited to remember it.

“Father, I'm joining the Kingsguard. It's a great honour to our House.”

“Do you call it honour? I shit on honour.” Lord Tywin froze him.

“You bereaved our House of its heir. I was to train you to be one day the High Lord of the Westerlands, to rule Casterly Rock in my stead when I'm at King's Landing court as Hand of the King. You were supposed to wed and bestow the Lannisters' name to your sons. Who should be the heir to Casterly Rock now? Your sister Cersei, a woman? She'll marry, and my duty towards her bids me to choose a worthy husband, the best match I can, yet her children will not carry our name. Or your brother Tyrion, a misshapen dwarf? Nice little monsters will he father, if the Lannisters' gold can buy a wench who will stomach bearing him children!”

Lord Tywin paused, as to let him get the whole picture.

“I had already some words with Lord Holster, about his second daughter Lysa: a Great House, neighbouring our own, as you already know. The girl is just a few years younger than you, perfect for your age; meek, and family oriented, as the Tullys are; not that much stirring to you, but a father has to look into such things. A stunning beauty as well; and that should appeal to a boy like you more.”

“I'm a man, and a Kingsguard member.” Jaime tried to sound as dignified as he could.

“Great man you think you are! Not even growing your beard!”

Jaime did grow bear, but so soft, fair, thin – so fuzzy peach – he hated it, and shaved religiously, and his cheeks were smoother than a girl's ones.

“I hoped for you the same happiness , and longer years, I shared with your mother.”

“If you think Lysa Tully would make such a perfect wife, why don't you just marry her, and beget Lannister heirs to your liking?”

His father smacked him down, and Jaime felt to the ground, mostly out of bewilderment than for the blow itself. Lord Tywin firmly believed you have authority until you need using it, and the best won battles are the ones you don't have to fight. A frowned eyebrow, a cold gaze was enough to discipline his children; he seldom raised his voice, and never his hand against them. Not even with Cersei, despite her calling for it quite often after their mother's death, but she was daddy's girl, and yearning for her father's smile, or a gesture, or just anything.

His father was as shocked as he was, and the aftershock made him self-possessed as always.

“Go and compose yourself. You're a grown man now, no longer my son. A man! If you can't think, you're only a puppet, a toy, and you'll never be one.”

\--o--

Fifteen. His first day of life: the first day of his life as a man.

A boy dreams what he can’t have, a man conquers what he wants, and Jaime Lannister had achieved what most wouldn’t in their wildest dreams: now real life was standing before him.

His father quitted resentfully his King's Hand office, and came back with Cersei to Casterly Rock, to which Jaime was no longer heir. He had no more family of his own, but, as a member of the Kingsguard, he would share the daily life of the royal family itself.

He had to keep their secrets to himself, and it was much harder than he had ever figured. Jaime knew even more about the Targaryens, at least about their everyday life, than his father did, and came to realized why he had sound reasons to never smile: but he couldn't shield himself with the same stern cold bloodedness.

At fifteen, Jaime had seen and heard so much more than he wanted too, and far more than he could ever hope to forget. All he could do, and his duty as a Kingsguard member, was keeping up appearances and looking good in his white garb, as any silly girl would do. Grin and bear it.

He sneered at himself: what he learned in the sewing room, with Cersei's frock on, was of better use to his service than the hours spent on the training yard. He couldn't help remind the funny Prancing Lion embroidered on a cloth his twin sister gave him as a keepsake, when he left to serve as an esquire - the funny Prancing Lion _he_ had drawn and stitched, and Cersei got all the praises. The thought of her, as always, made him smile.

He geared to the training yard where the same day he had won – almost won, actually – ser Arthur Dayne, and his smile proudly widened; with a sword in his hand, he felt life throbbing in him again.

Jaime wouldn't linger long on gloomy thoughts.

After all, he was fifteen, and all he needed was his sword.  
He had got everything he ever wanted, and if anyone laid the world at his feet, he wouldn’t bother picking it up.

At fifteen, Jaime Lannister had no more dreams.  
Nor desires.  
Nor fears.

Least of all, fear of death.

 


End file.
